


Tentatively Named "Kiersten"

by amanda0396



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3293777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amanda0396/pseuds/amanda0396
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>17-year-old Kiersten moves from Texas to Los Angeles. Events ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tentatively Named "Kiersten"

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I suck so bad and this is my first foray into AO3 and this kind of stuff so please excuse my shittiness and lack of a good summary.

Chapter 1

  
I knew we were somewhere in Arizona, because I’d woken up right as we passed a sign that told us we were approaching The Golden State. Now our car was parked outside of the run-down diner and I was seated inside, in one of the cracking vinyl booths. There was a burger in front of me, but I didn’t feel like eating it. The pool of grease underneath, which had surely soaked through the bun by now, was disgusting me more and more by the minute. Ricky was in the bathroom, likely about to continue his pattern of neglecting to wash his hands.  
  
I looked around the diner. There was not a single booth or chair cushion intact. Most of them had indents from the number of overweight patrons that had undoubtedly gorged themselves at these very tables. The counters and tables were sticky, which I think was probably permanent at this point. Spilled coffee and syrup from breakfast, barbecue sauce from lunch, and beer and grease from dinner had made them perpetually grimy. The hanging light fixtures flickered and swung, and I smelled a wave of body odor from an old man who passed by me. I couldn’t imagine a time when this place ever looked nice, or even fully functional. The fading blue paint on the outside of the building had, by my estimation, always been chipped, and the ashtray next to the bench outside had probably seen more butts than a Playboy photographer. It was all very Americana.  
I decided to go outside. The parking lot was more of a large dirt square than anything else, and I kicked up dust on my way across it. I reached Ricky’s Jeep and climbed onto the hood, laying down on my back. The sun beat down on me, so I took off my jacket and laid it over my face. I had my whole future planned out. I’d get to Los Angeles and find a job as a waitress to pay the bills and a tiny apartment to live in while I hunted for acting jobs. I’d do a couple commercials first, and a small part on a procedural cop show. Maybe a cheerleader who got murdered. Then, I’d be sitting somewhere with a cup of coffee and a man would come up and announce that I was exactly who he’d been searching for for his next film. He’d tell me that I didn’t need to audition because he was so sure I was the one. That would be my breakout role. After that, my career would pick up, and I’d become Hollywood’s newest it-girl. All the directors would want me for their films, and I could quit my shitty waitress job and leave my tiny apartment to live with my new bad-boy beau in Beverly Hills. Then I’d be in the tabloids. “Liam cheats on Kirsten! HIS SECRET NIGHTS OUT (PHOTOS)” Oh no! The sweetest girl in Hollywood has been duped! But I’d be so brave despite my heartbreak that everyone would have no choice but to admire me.  
  
And then I’d go through my rebellious phase. There would be pictures of me out partying every night and someone, somewhere would make a joke about me hanging out with Charlie Sheen. I’d be rumored to be on drugs and I’d start dressing provocatively. Then I’d come out as bisexual and parade my incredibly hot girlfriend around for the paparazzi before announcing that she got me into drugs and took advantage of my fame. There would be a lull in my career. I’d announce that I was taking a break from acting to sort my life out. Maybe a quick stint in rehab, and then I’d be back at it. I’d find a starring role in the box-office hit of the year and make my comeback. “Kirsten Says: ‘I’m feeling better than ever!’ DETAILS OF HER ROAD TO RECOVERY (PG 10)” I’d go on to become one of the prolific actors of our time and I’d have more money than I knew what to do with.  
  
But, first things first, I had to get to LA. Ricky was nice, but he wasn’t interested in talking to me. Bringing me with him was more of a chore than a choice, but I guess that’s what happens when your sister-in-law has a kid who wants a ride to California and you owe her a favor. I decided that I didn’t want to be around him any more than I had to. I was close enough to my destination to be able to make it on my own. I hopped off the car quickly and reached in the open window to grab my backpack. I picked a napkin out of my backpack and scrawled him a note, which I left under the windshield wiper for him to find. Then I slung the backpack over my shoulder and took off walking down the side of the freeway. I glanced back and I could see Ricky sitting down at our table, ready to dig into his food.  
  
I walked about fifteen minutes with my thumb out before I got a ride from a couple who were on their way home from visiting family in Phoenix. Once I got in the car, it was obvious that they were way too tired and probably on the brink of a divorce, and that picking me up had been the wife’s idea. I would probably be able to ride all the way to the coast with them, and then go north when they went south to San Diego, but that took all the fun out of it. I wanted to wander a bit more before I got there. So about twenty minutes into the drive, when I saw an upcoming trailer park, I asked them to let me out. As they pulled away I could hear a new argument start up from inside the car.  
  
I was lost. Night fell as I sat outside of the trailer park near the freeway. I started daydreaming again about when I finally made it big. I’d sit on an overstuffed armchair aside whichever SNL cast member had a talk show in ten years, and they’d ask me about my childhood. “What drove you to move out to LA and start your acting career?” “Well, I grew up in Texas, and at a very young age I developed an addiction to cinema,” I’d answer. My expensive jewelry would hang heavily off my neck and wrists and shine under the blinding stage lights, and my hair would fall delicately into my face. I’d go on about how aside from wanting to escape the humidity -the crowd chuckles- I just always knew I’d be someone.  
  
I was awoken by a car screeching behind me and remembered my situation. I had to find a ride. The people in the trailer park had been largely unfriendly and nobody had agreed to putting me up, for even one night. I’d offered them money, but no one was interested. I guess they were too busy eating TV dinners and drinking cheap beer. Maybe I’d just get a ride back to the diner. I knew Ricky was probably still there, inhaling his pulled pork sandwich, thinking I’d just gone for a walk. The issue, though, is that I had kind of imagined myself sneaking onto a semi whose driver I had overheard telling someone he was headed to LA, or maybe getting picked up by a hunky traveler with whom I’d have a fling. It would make my story a lot more interesting. But when Ricky finally threw some crumpled bills on the table and walked out to the car to find me, he’d see my note telling him to go on without me. And I knew he would. I was lucky to get a ride from him in the first place. So I decided to go back.  
  
I walked along the freeway for what felt like an eternity until I finally found the diner. Ricky was outside, smoking a cigarette, and I took my opportunity before he saw me to remove the note from his windshield. I climbed through the window into the car and got into my seat quickly. I could hear his footsteps approach the car and I pretended to be asleep, my eyes fluttering closed just as he looked over at me. I heard the car start up and soon we backed out of our spot and merged back onto the freeway. I opened my eyes to gaze out the window at the emptiness of the desert. Soon enough, I would be sipping a daiquiri under palm trees in my private villa in Mexico. Soon enough.


End file.
